


i saw the sky like i never seen before

by crownedcarl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (not negan/rick but. it's in there), Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Face-Fucking, First Time, Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mile High Club, Semi-Public Sex, Stranger Sex, Topping from the Bottom, negan's savior squad are all flight attendants now, nothing too kinky this time around folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:57:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: Negan's a flight attendant trying to do his job, and Rick's a man trying to get home. Things don't end up being quite that simple.





	i saw the sky like i never seen before

**Author's Note:**

> psa: i know absolutely nothing about air traffic protocols or air travel beyond the fact that it's noisy and uncomfortable, so take my descriptions with a grain of salt. this fic was inspired by a meme, so that should tell you all you need to know about the quality standards of this story, but the lovely @genevievedarcygranger prompted me to write this, so here it is!
> 
> the title's from frank ocean's song pilot jones, and i think i threw in one or two references to richard siken, as usual. can you tell i have a problem, yet?
> 
> as far as i can tell, i've tagged everything that needs tagging, but if you guys notice something that might squick people out or trigger them, let me know so i can add it to the tags and warnings! otherwise, i hope you enjoy my quick and silly take on this trope.

Negan’s Tuesday morning flight is off to a bad start, and he hasn’t even gotten past the fucking gate, yet.

First of all, the damn flight is delayed, and as much as he knows from years of working in the industry that he can’t and shouldn’t take his frustration out on the people around him for it, he can’t help himself. There are passengers jammed up tight all the way to the boarding desk, whining about being late, whining about needing to get seated first because they decided to bring their fucking toddlers on the flight, and Negan’s got a killer headache after an hour of sitting around and dealing with entitled assholes screaming in his ear.

He pastes a fake, sugary smile on his face, and the balding man in his mid-fifties hollering at him pales and backs up a step. “Sir,” Negan grits out, hands clenching on the counter top, “I’m not the pilot. I can’t tell you when the flight will be ready to be boarded.”

What he really wants to say is _go fuck yourself,_ but he manages to reign it in. The chaos around him isn’t anything new, but god damn it, he wanted a relaxing flight, this one time, but apparently that’s too much to ask for. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters curses under his breath, and is about ready to snap at the next person to ask him another stupid question.

“Excuse me? Sir?”

Shit on a stick, people won’t fucking leave him alone. Negan grits his teeth and hisses _“Yes?”_ through his teeth, but when he raises his eyes from the carpet beneath his feet, he ends up blinking at the man that’s standing in front of him, smiling sheepishly, his hair windswept and his cheeks flushed.

Negan barely bites back the _hello, gorgeous_ that’s sitting on his tongue. His smile, this time around, is entirely genuine, if a little inappropriate, but goddamn, this guy’s smile is like the sun rising above the storm clouds. “How can I help you?” Negan says, leaning his hip against the counter, taking in the guy’s appearance. Slim, but not scrawny; he’s got decently broad shoulders, his button-up shirt laying flat against his firm stomach, and Negan practically has to tear his eyes away so he won’t get fucking sued for sexual harassment.

Again.

He digs deep and finds his fucking sensitivity training somewhere, but it doesn’t stop him from freely drinking in the guy’s slender frame, imagining what he looks like beneath the layers of denim and plaid. “Actually,” the man says after he clears his throat, “I got here ten minutes ago, and I didn’t get a chance to check if my carry-on fits, so I was hoping…?”

At least this guy, unlike these other schmucks, is up-front and straightforward. It makes Negan’s job so much easier, so he says “Yeah, hand it over,” and proceeds to weigh the little roller suitcase the guy’s brought with him. The tag on the handle reads _RICK GRIMES,_ and Negan grins.

“Everything’s looking good, Rick,” Negan tells him, not at all trying to keep the innuendo out of his voice. “Real good, actually.”

He didn’t notice, before, but he can see that Rick’s holding himself awkwardly, one arm around his middle, putting his weight mostly on one leg and when he offers Negan a smile, it comes across strained. Frowning, Negan asks “Is everything alright?” and adds “Sir?” after a moment, staring intently at Rick.

Shaking his head, Rick’s smile melts into something more genuine and reassuring. “I’m good,” he says, and then lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I was at an outpatient rehabilitation center. Not that kind,” he hastens to add when Negan’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. “Physical therapy,” Rick clarifies. “Guess I’m still feeling it.”

Physical therapy. Rick’s injured, then, and with the damn gate packed tight, there’s little to no hope of him finding an empty seat to rest in. Negan wouldn’t have bothered to care if it was anyone else, but Rick Grimes has pale blue eyes and a smile like fucking sunshine, so Negan marches over to the closest bench, tapping a middle-aged woman on the shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am-”

“Miss,” she says, sounding offended, giving Negan an impressive stink-eye.

“...miss,” he corrects himself, resisting the powerful urge to roll his eyes, “I need you to give up you seat. We have a passenger here with a medical condition who needs it.”

The woman regards Rick critically, then crosses her arms. “He looks fine to me,” she claims, and before Negan can come up with a plausible excuse for why Rick needs the seat so damn badly, Rick beats him to the punch.

“Miss,” he says, smiling that genuine smile again, “My name is Rick Grimes. I’m a sheriff’s deputy out of King County. I was shot on duty, and my shoulder’s hurting something awful. I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me have your seat.”

Well, damn. Sheriff’s deputy; Negan didn’t see that one coming, much less the fact that Rick was fucking shot on the job. The woman in the pale pink blouse flushes hotly, then rises quickly to her feet, gathering her belongings. “I’m so sorry,” she stutters out, “Of course, officer, please. It’s my pleasure.”

Oh, now it’s her fucking pleasure, after forcing Rick’s sob story out of him. “Thank you,” Negan mutters to her, watching her melt into the crowd. Rick finally gets to sit down but he does so wincing, sighing softly once he’s adjusted.

Negan hasn’t cared about anyone in years, not since he left that godforsaken hospital for the last time, and his concern for this virtual stranger flares up so strongly it takes him by surprise. “Better?” Negan asks, following the trajectory of Rick’s fingers, the way they dig into his shoulder and then move in circles, massaging the area firmly.

Rick nods, a healthier glow to his face. “Much,” he admits, “Sometimes, the pain comes out of nowhere, and I can handle it, mostly, but…”

Shrugging, he says “Sometimes, it’s too much. It helps to sit down and relax.”

Negan casts a glance out the window, and sees that the plane is finally in the process of refueling and emptying out the cargo bay. On the one hand, that’s fucking fantastic news, because it means Negan won’t have to stand around for much longer, listening to inane complaints he can’t fix and doesn’t care to. On the other hand, it means he won’t get to talk to Rick for much longer, and he definitely minds that.

“King County?” he asks, making himself good and comfortable, resting a hand on the back of Rick’s seat. “How long you been a cop?”

Maybe he’s being intrusive, but Rick doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs, rubbing at his shoulder absently, and says “Going on twelve years, now,” which is a little surprising. Rick looks young, maybe mid-thirties, which means he must’ve gone straight out of high school and into the academy, chasing his dreams. Negan can appreciate that; he fucked around too much in a dozen different fields before getting this gig, and no matter how much he tolerates it, it doesn’t feel like the end of the road. He figures he’ll give it another year, then move on.

Rick, though, is the kind of man who found a goal and pursued it. Negan’s jealousy is brief, but it’s there. “Tell you what,” Negan offers, “I’ll hustle you on the plane before anyone else, how’s that sound? I figure with everyone being pressed together like sardines that shoulder of yours might get jostled.”

Blinking in surprise, Rick’s smile becomes grateful. “You’d do that?” he asks, “I wouldn’t want to, I don’t know, violate regulations?”

Maybe he imagines it, but he thinks Rick’s eyes linger on his chest when his eyes flit up and down the length of Negan’s body, a quick once-over that might not mean anything, except he’s sort of...fixated. Negan knows the fucking ridiculous red and blue outfit he’s wearing isn’t going to get him any compliments, but at least it shows off his broad chest, his strong arms, and Rick’s taking in the sight of him before he ducks his head, smiling.

“Rick,” Negan grins, “You’re an apple-pie-eating American hero. Regulations can suck my dick.”

He shouldn’t have said that, and he’s expecting Rick to frown, expecting one of his coworkers who might’ve overheard to give him a stern talking-to, but Rick lets out a surprised laugh and closes his eyes, lashes fluttering across his cheeks. “I appreciate that,” he chuckles. “Oh, are we boarding?”

They are, apparently. Negan doesn’t know how he missed the announcement over the speakers, but when Rick makes to stand up and wobbles a little, Negan is by his side in a second flat, steadying him. “Let me help you up,” he offers, and gets Rick to his feet.

“Lightheaded,” Rick explains, “I haven’t traveled in a while. Sorry.”

“It’s not an inconvenience,” Negan tells him, grabbing Rick’s suitcase before Rick can make a move to do it himself. “Come on, let's get you checked in.”

Rick fumbles for his passport, and Negan has to stay behind to scan the other dozens of passports while Rick heads down the hallway towards the flight. Negan keeps sneaking glances as Rick goes, and Dwight sighs “Don’t,” as Negan finally returns his attention to the work at hand. He’s been holding an elderly lady’s passport in his hand for a minute or so, scanning it twice. He hands it over with a pained grimace that’s trying to pass for a smile, then whirls on Dwight.

“Don’t what?” Negan bites out, barely pretending to care when the other passengers ask him questions about how long the plane ride will be and other shit Negan couldn’t care less about. “I’m doing my damn job, that’s all.”

He can’t see Dwight rolling his eyes, but at this point, he can _feel_ it. “Uh-huh,” Dwight mutters, “And last time you did your damn job, that lady CEO threw a drink in your face. I’m just saying,” he goes on, dodging the elbow Negan tries to jab in his side, “It’s a bad idea.”

“But you’ll cover for me?” Negan asks, grinning.

Dwight’s face is impressively unimpressed. “Obviously,” he declares, like there’s any question about it. “As long as you hold up your end.”

Dwight’s one lazy son of a bitch, preferring to spend his time lounging by the cockpit, annoying the holy shit out of Simon, but their arrangement works. Negan gets to deliver the food and sidle up to any passengers that catch his eye, and Dwight gets to relax while giving Negan an alibi any time he’s caught slacking off in favor of seducing travelers.

He hasn’t done it in awhile, not since the bitch from Phoenix got him in hot water, but he’s looking forward to toying with Rick, seeing how much pressure he can apply before Rick breaks.

-

By some stroke of miracle, Rick’s got an aisle seat near the back. Negan won’t have to go through a fucking acrobatic exercise to get Rick’s attention, and he smirks gleefully at the revelation, nudging Arat as she scowls in the general direction of the cockpit. She’s never been a fan of these crowded flights, and Negan wonders which poor bastard is gonna meet the sharp end of her elbow as she’s fighting her way through the aisle. “Switch with me,” Negan insists, offering her a charming grin. “Let me take the back.”

“Why?”

She scans his face with a sour look on her own. “No reason,” Negan lies, “But there’s a fucking crying baby in the front and a bunch of sorority girls in the middle. Let me have the back.”

Arat’s mouth twitches into a grin. “Who is it?” she demands, drawing the curtain further aside to check out the last five rows. “The cougar?” she asks, nodding towards the forty-something woman from the gate, and Negan makes a noise of disgust. “Not her, then. Maybe…”

She considers the options, then says “Oh, the renaissance sculpture?”

“What?”

Negan doesn’t get it. Arat laughs, pinning him with a satisfied look. “Guy in the aisle seat,” she clarifies, “Looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo himself?”

Maybe she has a point. Rick’s got a Roman nose, a strong jaw, not to mention those plush fucking lips and his wild curls, begging to be pulled. “...yeah, alright,” Negan relents, “Will you just fucking switch with me?”

“You owe me one,” Arat tells him, shoving a life vest into his arms. “Go woo your man.”

Negan isn’t going to woo anyone wearing the ill-fitting, hideously unflattering life vest, but he damn sure is going to try his hardest. He makes his way down the aisle, stopping three rows before he reaches Rick, and winks at him when they make eye contact. Rick’s smile is amused, and he actually pays attention while Negan recites the information about the emergency exits, the oxygen masks, the life vests and the emergency instructions. It’s charming, how Rick’s one of the few people not looking bored to death.

Returning to his station, Negan straps in and waits for them to take flight, bumping shoulders with Simon who’s seated beside him. “The lady in the back,” Simon tells him, his eyebrows doing something absurd, “I’m gonna get her number.”

“Sure, buddy,” Negan agrees, then smirks. “I already got a number, myself."

“Doesn’t count,” Arat cuts in, “Not when you saw it on a luggage tag.”

Negan mutters “What the fuck ever,” and scowls throughout their ascent.

-

The flight is short; just under three hours of cruising before they land, so Negan knows he has to use his time wisely if he wants a shot at getting his hands on Rick. He and Arat serve the food, because she’s great at distracting the other passengers and buying Negan time, which means he’s lingering by Rick’s aisle, serving him a tray of truly pathetic-looking lasagna and a Pepsi.

“I’d avoid the dessert,” Negan advises, and grins as Rick grimaces and pushes away the (probably) expired pudding cup. “Good choice.”

The businessman beside Rick is deep asleep, snoring, so Negan takes full advantage of the few precious minutes Arat’s buying him. “Traveling alone?” he asks, cocking his head, “Your wife waiting at home?”

Rick’s face doesn’t give much away, but he eventually goes from frowning vaguely to smiling, but it looks brittle. “No,” he tells Negan. “No wife. A friend’s coming to pick me up at the airport.”

Negan decides that he can work with that. He briefly has to turn around and serve the girl in the seat behind Rick, and his time is up by then. Arat’s pulling the cart back towards the service area, and Negan leaves Rick with a nod, sighing deeply when he shuts the curtain and is met by Dwight and Simon’s smirks.

“Alright,” he scowls, “I might be in over my fucking head.”

“You don’t even know him,” Dwight points out, “You’ll never see him again.”

Negan knows that’s probably true, but he’s not willing to admit defeat. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, his voice thin.

Dwight shrugs, picking up a stack of napkins and placing them in the cart. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Trip and accidentally suck his dick?”

Sadly, that’s the best advice Negan’s heard all day.

-

He doesn’t trip and do what he really fucking wants to; instead, when he’s collecting the trash, he takes Rick’s mostly-empty soda can in his hands and, after a moment of consideration, makes a big show out of banging his elbow into the seat in front of Rick, spilling the remaining soda down Rick’s jeans.

“Oh, crap,” Negan says when Rick makes a startled noise, already reaching for the napkins. “Sorry, let me-”

Bingo. Rick flushes all the way down his throat while Negan’s patting him dry with the napkins, content to linger on Rick’s crotch and watching him fidget. “That’s not necessary,” Rick tells him, his voice hoarse. “Really, I…”

Negan pulls back, smirking. “Maybe you should go clean up,” he suggests, nodding to the bathroom in the back, where Arat’s made sure it’s empty by claiming someone made a mess inside. “I’ll bring you a towel.”

He rushes back to Dwight, who obediently hands over a towel. “I don’t want the details,” he tells Negan, “But have fun.”

“I will,” Negan promises, grinning as he heads towards the back of the plane. Outside the windows, all he can see are clouds. White, fluffy clouds, and Negan stares for a second at the shapes contrasted against the baby-blue sky, then reaches the bathroom. He lifts the sign, slides the knob to unlock, and opens.

Rick’s standing there with his shirt shoved partly up his stomach, exposing his hipbones as he scrubs at the stain on his jeans with a paper towel. He looks up when Negan clears his throat and accepts the towel gratefully, but his expression melts into concern when Negan steps inside and locks the door behind them.

Negan wonders what he’s thinking when he shivers like that.

He can see Rick’s throat tighten when he swallows, and he says “Thanks, but I’ve got it from here,” with a little waver in his voice, the kind that Negan recognizes as the result of breathlessness. He bets Rick’s never done anything remotely as dirty as hook up with a stranger on a fucking plane.

“You sure?” Negan prods, taking the towel from Rick’s hand, guiding Rick back against the wall while Negan pats him dry. “There’s nothing else I can help you with? Nothing at all?”

Rick’s eyes are half-closed, his mouth tight with the effort not to make a noise. “I don’t,” he stutters, stomach tightening when Negan languidly undoes the button of his jeans. “I’ve never…”

“On a plane?” Negan questions, leaning in close, “Or with a guy?”

Rick’s laughter is thin, but genuine. “Both?” he offers, tilting his head back, wetting his lips. Negan can’t help himself; he presses his body up against Rick’s, aligning their hips, their knees, their chests. It makes it easier to duck his head and brush his mouth against Rick’s in what’s almost a kiss, but not quite.

“You, uh,” Rick breathes, “You do this often?”

It feels significant, the fact that he’s asking, and Negan doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s done this before, that it hadn’t mattered then and likely wouldn’t matter now. Rick’s so goddamn genuine, looking at Negan like he needs to know, so he sighs “Depends on what you’d call _often,_ but yeah. A couple of times.”

Whispering, he confesses “Not in a while, though.”

Rick nods, accepting that, then shudders and tilts his head back against the wall when Negan pushes his thigh between Rick’s knees, nudging up against his cock, fighting back a groan at the welcome realization that Rick’s hard, hard for _him._ “Baby,” Negan chuckles, “You’re about to join the mile high club. Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He means it, and Rick nods, his eyes wide and dark, his lower lip caught between his teeth. It’s a bitch and a half, trying to get to his knees in the cramped stall, but it’s worth it for the shocked breath Rick releases when Negan finally sinks down and works on Rick’s belt. He drinks in Rick’s flush, and because he can, Negan drags the zipper down with his _teeth,_ relishing in the wounded noise Rick makes at the sight.

It’s been a long time since he was with a man, but Negan’s got more than a few ways to keep Rick’s attention. “Been a while?” he asks Rick, making quick work of tugging Rick’s jeans and boxers down, groaning out loud when he sees Rick’s cock, stiff against his stomach, pretty and pink as can be. “You’re already so fucking hard, goddamn.”

“You blame me?” Rick gasps, fisting a hand in Negan’s hair, “You kept - looking at me, touching me, saying these things in that _voice-”_

“Yeah?” Negan purrs, making eye contact, bringing his mouth to the silky underside of Rick’s cock. “You like it when I talk dirty to you?”

Rick’s frame trembles with laughter. “I’d prefer it if you’d put your mouth to better use,” he says pointedly, and Negan huffs, loosening his tie, placing his palms on Rick’s thighs. He’s burning up with a flush, Negan can feel it through the denim, and it’s so fucking hot, knowing he’s the reason Rick’s trembling and tugging on his hair, stifling back noise before Negan has even gotten started.

He blinks, realizing something. “Hey,” he grins, “I’m Negan.”

Rick’s laughter can’t quite contain itself. “I figured,” he rasps, “I saw the name tag.”

Now that that’s out of the way, Negan turns his attention elsewhere. “Hold on to something,” he tells Rick, smirking. “Turbulence might get you, but I guaran-fucking-tee I’ll get to you, first.”

Rick meets his eyes, and something passes between them that Negan can’t name. Doesn’t matter, anyway. Dwight said it all, earlier; it’s not like Negan will see Rick again.

He ignores the fact that the idea bothers him, fitting his fingers around Rick’s hips and keeping him pinned against the wall. Negan makes a show of it, those first few minutes of nuzzling Rick’s cock, mouthing at his balls, lips traveling from Rick’s hip to his thigh to his cock, never staying for long enough to give Rick something real to thrust against, no real friction to chase, knowing it must be driving him crazy.

Negan doesn’t make Rick wait long, though. Rick’s moving in urgent, shallow thrusts, and Negan strokes his cock nice and slow, his fingers tight around the base, squeezing on the right side of painful to draw a shocked noise out of Rick, a throaty _“God,”_ that rings in Negan’s ears for a while. He’s working Rick up, getting him desperate, slicking Rick’s cock with his own saliva, and when Negan finally opens his mouth and takes Rick inside, the fingers in his hair scratch helplessly at his scalp, sharp and pleading.

Rick’s hips are moving, squirming, and Negan holds him back for a little while longer. He likes that Rick’s so hot for him, trying his damnedest to keep quiet, but whimpers and moans keep spilling past his lips, tripping off his tongue, making Negan respond with a moan of his own, tasting Rick’s skin and precome on his tongue, damn near lightheaded with how good it is.

Usually, Negan wouldn’t be the one on his knees, but he’s happy to do this for Rick. His jaw’s already straining, but that doesn’t stop him, especially not when Rick gives an urgent tug on Negan’s hair, begging without using his words. “Christ,” Rick gasps, low and pained, “Come on, please, _Negan.”_

Rick’s cock is heavy, hot. Negan hollows his cheeks and _sucks,_ tongue working the underside, the taste of precome coating the inside of his mouth, so goddamn much of it, all the proof Negan needs that Rick’s more into this than he would’ve expected. Nothing could compare to Rick’s soft whines, or his low groans, or the high-pitched keen he barely contains when Negan takes him as deep as he can, releasing Rick’s hips abruptly, feeling him stutter forwards in a thrust.

It pushes Rick’s cock to the back of his throat; Negan chokes, then moans, feeling Rick pause and breathe shallowly. “Can I?” Rick whispers. Negan’s only reply is to pull back, the head of Rick’s cock parting his lips, before he dips his head back down and takes Rick all the way to the back of his throat, all over again. Rick’s gasp is a ragged thing, a beautiful thing that Negan wants to loop and listen to on repeat.

He tightens his fingers in Negan’s hair, then thrusts; he’s fucking Negan’s mouth sharply, helplessly, one foot slip-sliding on the floor before finding purchase, Rick’s noises spilling out of him at an unsteady pace. “You,” he chokes out, “You’re - god, you should see yourself,” Rick whines, “You’re so-”

Negan chuckles, knowing Rick can feel the vibrations, and when Rick’s hips jolt and his cock pushes deeper, Negan returns his hands to their places on Rick’s thighs, dragging him closer, removing his leverage.

He can tell Rick’s close. His knees buckle when he comes, and Negan holds him firmly by the hips to keep him from sliding right down the wall, swallowing down each and every drop, moaning like a ten-dollar hooker, and when Rick’s finished and groaning, Negan goes the extra mile by licking him clean, lapping at his cock until Rick’s pushing at his head, trembling and over-sensitive.

Rick leans against the wall, panting, while Negan rises to his feet and slowly does Rick’s jeans back. Rick is pliant and unresisting when Negan slides his tongue in his mouth, and some part of him craves the illusion of intimacy that settles over them when Rick brings a hand to his jaw, cradling him close as they kiss. It’s both the dirtiest and most innocent thing Negan has ever experienced, and the realization hits him like a brick to the fucking head.

“How’s that for in-flight entertainment?” Negan purrs, Rick’s laughter washing over him like a gentle breeze. “Stay another minute, alright? Don’t want the whole fucking plane looking at us sideways.”

He makes an attempt at fixing his hair before he steps out, but it doesn’t do the trick. Arat cracks up as soon as he returns, and Dwight mutters “You reek, dude,” while Negan adjusts himself in his pants, and Simon goes for a high-five before reconsidering, recoiling from Negan’s hand.

“Fair enough,” Negan tells him, and buckles down for landing.

-

Later, while he’s lighting up in the designated smoking area outside of the terminal, Negan wonders about the life Rick’s returning to. Maybe he’s got a kid or two. Maybe, in a week or so, he’ll forget all about this and chalk it up to a one-time thing and move on with his life, and Negan will be the pathetic jackass pining for things he can’t have.

“Hey.”

He turns around, startled, and there’s Rick, smiling, his suitcase beside him.

“...hi,” Negan returns, frowning. “You need something?”

His tone doesn’t seem to deter Rick. “Actually,” he says, “I was wondering if I could give you my number, maybe? In case you’re around, sometime.”

Rick’s not stuttering, but he’s not as suave as Negan guesses he’d like to be. He stands there, inhaling, not looking at Rick when he mutters “No,” and sees Rick’s face crumble, only to light up all over again when Negan adds “It’s on your suitcase. I memorized it, already.”

Rick’s eyes are soft, baby-blue. “In that case,” he chuckles, turning his head when somebody from the parking lot calls his name, waving at a guy with a head of dark hair. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Negan agrees, surprised when he realizes he’s smiling. “I’ll see you around, Rick Grimes.”


End file.
